


I Dream of Genie

by paraboobizarre



Category: Tokio Hotel
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-29
Updated: 2008-10-29
Packaged: 2017-11-09 04:07:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/451084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paraboobizarre/pseuds/paraboobizarre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom is a nice guy with a shit life. Work sucks, his apartment looks a mess and his soon to be ex-boyfriend murdered his plants while Tom was away on holiday in Morocco where he bought a gritty looking little copper lamp on a bazaar...</p><p>Written for the FQ Fest 2008.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Dream of Genie

**First Day**

It was late in the afternoon when the airport shuttle bus finally pulled up in front of his apartment. Tom lugged his suitcase up the winding stairs to his apartment, internally already dreading the prospect of entering his cramped living quarters.

It felt like he still had sand all over himself, especially in his hair; coupled with the hour long flight back from Morocco, squeezed into these tiny airplane seats and the second hand air from the ventilation system blowing in his face for hours, he now felt grimy and sweaty.

He left his suitcase right there in the hall, shedding one item of clothing after another as he made a beeline for the bathroom. The dull light flickered on overhead, the air in the entire apartment stiff and used up, as if it hadn't been aired out for the entirety of his stay abroad even though he had specifically asked Manuel to open the windows every once in a while when he came over to water his plants.

A dried up amaryllis sat miserably in its pot on the windowsill. Okay, so obviously Manuel hadn't been over at all...

Grumbling to himself, Tom noticed a post-it stuck to his bathroom mirror, familiar handwriting scrawled all over it.

_Call me when you get back – we REALLY need to talk_

Huffing under his breath, Tom ripped off the note and threw it in the bin under the basin. Manuel loved to talk, alright. His biggest hobby was finding fault with Tom; the little things, the big things, it really was all the same to Manuel.

Stepping into the shower, the water beating down on him, melting away all the little aches and pains, Tom wondered, not for the first time, what had obsessed him that one night he had met Manuel. It should have been clear right from the start that this guy was nothing but trouble.

This holiday, case in point! Tom had booked his trip to Morocco ages ago, months before he had even met Manuel; yet “his boyfriend”, in keeping with his insane sense of entitlement, had had the nerve to complain that Tom dared to go on holiday without him...

What was even worse was that the time away from Manuel's oppressive presence had made Tom realize that he could be so much happier on his own. No one there to criticize the way he dressed, his choice in food or his reluctance to party till the wee hours of the morning. No one who hogged the blanket and kicked him in his sleep. Maybe being single wasn't so bad after all.

It was a long time before Tom reappeared out of the shower, dripping water all the way down the hall to his bedroom where he rooted through his untidy closet in search for some clean clothes. Another thing that made the blood rise into Manuel's cheeks; untidiness and puddles of water on the carpets. Truly outrageous.

While Tom unpacked his suitcase, haphazardly throwing clothes in the general direction of the laundry basket, he tried to think of a polite way to break the news to his nightmare of a boyfriend that he was sick and tired of him. And that Manuel had murdered his plants...

There were few things he hated more than confrontations of that sort. He had never had any troubles sticking up for himself at work but lines of code and programming were not the same as people. Somehow he always felt guilty, like it was all his fault, even though, as in Manuel's case, it was probably understandable. He hadn't asked for much after all...water the plants, air out the apartment. God knows what would have happened had he had pets of any kind!

He stopped abruptly, staring down at the bottom of his nearly empty suitcase. There, between the folds of a towel, lay a dark brown lamp, copper most probably, elaborately decorated with tiny carved flower borders and Arabic symbols.

He had bought it on a bazaar in Morocco, not really knowing what he would do with it later on. It was still rather dirty, like someone had dug it out of the ground and hadn't bothered with cleaning it before selling. It would make a nice present for his mum though – especially regarding his neglect to shop for any decent souvenirs.

The air in the kitchen was equally stuffy and Tom winced audibly as he walked past his little menagerie of potted plants, every single one of them dried up and dead apart from a hardy cactus, the only type of living thing that would ever survive Manuel's neglect for everyone but himself.

Turning on the tap, Tom held the copper lamp under the stream, waiting for the warm water to dissolve the mud and took a rag, starting to rub off the dirt obscuring the fine carvings on the side of the shell.

A faint hissing sound made Tom turn around, scanning the empty living room behind him, the wet and soapy lamp dripping water on the floor as he stepped away from the sink to get a better look. There was nothing.

The hissing got louder and suddenly, with a cry of surprise, Tom let go of the lamp in his hand. In the blink of an eye the damn thing had gotten so hot he could feel blisters starting on the palm of his hands already. The lamp cluttered to the floor, rolling out of sight behind the kitchen isle.

White smoke filled the room and with it came a horrid, dry heat that made Tom's eyes water as he retreated further to the back of the kitchen, not knowing what to expect but not quite able to shake off an impending sense of doom.

Tom rasped out a breath, feeling his eyes burn from the smoke that spread through the tiny studio. He blinked against the wall of white smoke, trying to see, when suddenly he heard a cough that mirrored his own and a high-pitched and squeaky voice following it with an unceremonious “Oh damn!”

The smoke seemed to dissipate and Tom stumbled forward blindly, feeling for the lamp he had dropped. He felt the worn down parquet floors and then something warm and soft and...toes!  
He recoiled in shock, falling smack! on his ass, hitting his head on the leg of a chair so hard he saw tiny orbs of light dancing in his field of vision.

The smoke cleared, the wavering outlines of the person the toe belonged to beginning to take shape. Black hair, pale skin, big brown eyes and...

“Hello!” it said, bending down to where Tom sat huddled under the kitchen isle, extending its hand.

It looked male. Somewhat.

Bones churned and cracked as the strange apparition got down on its knees in front of him, ducking its head till they looked eye to eye.

It cocked its head, looking at Tom inquisitively.

“Are you my new Master?” It asked, cautiously inching forward just a little but Tom still recoiled in horror, pressing his back against a chair.

“You...you...” Tom gestured aimlessly in the direction of the lamp which lay behind the crouching figure. His heart was racing, his palms slicked with sweat and he felt strangely dizzy, like he might faint at any moment.

“You...came out of the lamp!”

“All genies do,” it said, extending its hand again and Tom, too flabbergasted to say anything in reply, took it and let the strange creature help him up.

Once they were both standing, with Tom wobbling to and fro slightly, his own heartbeat drumming in his ears, the genie thing smoothed the wrinkles out of it’s plain linen clothes, stretching and contorting until Tom could hear the joints snap. The stranger winced, rubbing at his neck.

His eyes were darting back and forth between the innocuous copper lamp and the lean figure in front of him. Barbara Eden, Aladdin, Robin Williams and Larry Hagman...oh God. A genie!  
He shouldn't have eaten all that Moroccan food, he probably had caught some strange disease and now he was hallucinating about genies and –

“What year is it?”

The simple question stopped Tom dead in his tracks, his thoughts momentarily distracted from doom, destruction and food poisoning.

“Year?” Tom echoed hollowly, as he slowly staggered backwards, away from the strange apparition. The backs of his knees hit the couch, buckled and he slumped down on the well worn sofa.

“Yes, year.” The thing before him flattened his frazzled hair and looked him up and down expectantly.

“T-t-two thousand and eight?” Tom eventually managed.

The figure before him threw up his arms in defeat and let out a heavy sigh.

“2008...that means I was in that damned lamp for almost 900 years?” It sighed, looking down at itself.

“No wonder I'm all rumpled and,” it stretched, arching its back and Tom could hear the bones crunch and snap, “Allah! My joints are killing me!”

Tom leaned back against a stack of cushions, digging the heels of his hands into his eye sockets, telling himself to breathe, relax. Silently he counted downwards from ten, cracking one eye open reluctantly and peering through the web of his fingers, not really expecting the strange thing to have vanished but still hoping somehow...

"Are you okay, Master?" Big concerned eyes stared right at him, the genie's face not even two inches away from his own.

Soft hands wrapped around his own, pulling them away from his face and depositing them in his lap. The genie scooted closer till their knees where almost touching, bringing his face right up against his before it started making soothing cooing noises that made Tom felt instantly foolish.

"God, you really are a genie, aren't you?" He groaned, letting his head fall back against the headrest of the sofa. He felt sick, but definitely not the violent kind of food poisoning sick.

Tiny bells on an anklet jingled it wore as if in answer and Tom peered down at his genie. It, well, he looked pleasant enough. A bit younger than himself maybe and definitely rumpled but really pretty at the same time. The girlish kind of pretty. Gay.

Were there gay genies?

The bells jingled again as his new roommate crossed his legs and straightened himself, assuming an almost business-like manner.

“Okay," He announced, cracking his joints before he continued, "let me clue you in on this whole genie business, alright? This is not Aladdin and all that fancy shit. I don't just snap my fingers and POOF! stuff gets done. There are rules,” he said, laying a heavy emphasis on the last word and fixing him with that intent kind of stare that was eerily like his mum's.

“Like...what rules?” Tom dared to ask.

“Well...there's like...you wouldn't understand it! You're not a genie. It's complicated, alright.” The genie answered hectically, fluttering his hands through the air.

An uncomfortable thought dawned on Tom and he leaned back a little, just for caution's sake, before he asked: "Are you an evil genie?"

One eyebrow was raised dangerously and Tom hurried through an explanation before frogs started to rain down on him in retaliation or whatever an Arab's notion of punishment entailed.

"Like, say that hypothetically...only! _hypothetically_ though I wish for a new car and then the next day my mum dies and I inherit hers...that kind of evil?"

The genie's brows puckered up into a strained frown. He obviously needed quite some time to think about that one and Tom felt his stomach start to float uncomfortably in his middle.

"No, not really...unless you wish for that specifically, of course!" The genie said, fiddling with a strand of jet black hair thoughtfully.

Tom's head was swimming. Not even two hours ago he had come from his holiday to find his plants killed and now he was sitting here with a perfect stranger who had materialized out of a lamp, who addressed him with 'Master' and claimed to be a genie. Somehow it was all a little too much...

"So, uh...," Tom itched at his neck nervously, feeling how damp his hands were, "do I...just, uh...call you genie or do you have a real name?"

The genie's face lit up with a brilliant smile that was all sparkling white teeth, his eyes dancing with delight. He clapped his hands and scooted a little forward, extending his hand.

"Oh I am so glad you asked, Master," he bubbled, taking Tom's limp hand in his and shaking it enthusiastically.

"My name is Bill." The statement was punctuated by a little bow.

Tom's eyes narrowed in suspicion. Bill was not exactly an Arabian name. His genie seemed to have second guessed his thoughts because he shrugged eloquently, adding that, yes, Bill wasn't really a usual name for a genie but that this was just the way things were.

An odd silence settled over them. Bill still sat perched on the table, tiny bells jingling every time he bounced his foot. Tom simply sat there and stared at the floor between them, completely dumbfounded. He was a master now. He had a genie. A good looking one at that but that wasn't even the point. Master...cool!

Bill cleared his throat and Tom jerked out of meandering thoughts.

"Anything you wish for, Master? Anything you want me to do?"

"Ummm..." Tom began but stopped again, realizing that even though he could think of quite a few things to wish for, those were all rather big wishes – a car, a lot of money, his own house - and who knew if this genie thing didn't come with a hook after all, despite Bill's previous answer. Better to start small, see what would happen.

Bill was wriggling in place, craning his neck every once in a while to get a better look of his new surroundings and suddenly it struck Tom, the perfect trial-wish.

"I wish for a clean apartment. All tidy and nice, you know?"

It was as if someone had let the air out of Bill's bouncy persona. He slumped forward with a low groan and shook his head.  
"You _had_ to wish for that?!" He all but moaned and Tom jumped when his genie suddenly shot up right and glared down at him.

Before he could say anything though, Bill threw his hands up in a show of defeat and stomped off in the direction of the small built-in kitchen at the back of the room.

Tom whipped around in his seat, watching as Bill furiously yanked a rag from its hook and grabbed a stack of dirty plates from the sink, smashing them down in the counter with so much force the china rattled and Tom winced visibly.

While Bill ran hot water and soap in the sink, Tom slinked towards the pissed off genie, coming to stand behind the kitchen isle at a safe distance from a truly fuming Bill.

"Aren't you supposed to like...snap your fingers or wiggle your nose and all that stuff takes care of itself...you know, do magic?" He suggested cautiously.

Bill only hmpfed in reply, dropping a coffee-stained mug into the foamy mess of the sink. Tom watched him scrub away at the dishes furiously for tortuously long minutes before he tried again.

"You ah...don't have to do that, you know..." He pleaded, feeling guiltier by the minute, "I thought you'd just magic all that stuff away, you know..."

At that Bill finally turned around, giving him a look that would have made every martyr proud he seemed so resigned to his cruel fate.

"I told you, in the beginning, there are rules..." He sighed heavily, before adding, "and your wish is my command, Master. I shall give your," he glanced around himself dismissively, " _living_ quarters a thorough cleaning."

Bill returned his attention back to the dishes, muttering a hurried, 'Allah knows, it needs it!' under his breath and Tom quietly left the living kitchen, deciding to leave well alone.

He retreated back into his studio – the rather glorious name for the cramped office he had set up for himself next to the kitchen. There were tons of emails to check and stuff to get ready for work the next day.

Tom slumped down in front of his cluttered desk. Tomorrow he would be cooped up in his measly little office again, hacking out lines of code till his brain twisted up in knots and his eyes stung from staring at the screen. He should maybe wish for a nicer job...

A door shut and he could hear Bill traipse down the poky hallway. Tom leaned back in his chair and listened. Had he known some obscure genie rules required Bill to actually clean by hand, he would have wished for something less time consuming. Spaghetti for dinner maybe, that sort of thing.

Another door shut, Bill's bare feet slapping against the wood floors and then the washing machine rumbled to life in the bathroom.

Tom groaned quietly and rolled his eyes at himself – trust him to piss off a genie right with his first wish...

* * *

It was nearing midnight and Bill was still doddering around the apartment, carrying baskets full of laundry from the bedroom to the bathroom, putting magazines up in neat stacks and scrubbing away at practically every surface in the apartment till it was gleaming.

Tom had been watching the spectacle with increasing discomfort over the last two hours. Had he known what his wish for a clean apartment would entail he would _really_ have thought of something different. It seemed cruel, to see Bill slave away in his junkyard excuse for a flat.  
Not to mention that Bill had ogled his collection of more "private" magazines when he had been thundering through the bedroom. Now back issues of Publicgayte and Front were safely stowed away in his bedside table drawer – chronologically ordered...

Despite the workload Bill didn't seem particularly unhappy, a lot less frustrated than he had been at the beginning when he had theatrically stomped from room to room, muttering unintelligible curses under his breath.

Standing in the bathroom, staring at the mirror and brushing his teeth, enveloped in the sweet scent of fabric softener and washing powder, Tom could hear Bill hum to himself in the kitchen, the soft song interspersed with the clinking of china, pots and pans, the gurgling of water.

The digital clock on the bathroom counter read 00.12. Time to go to bed, for Tom definitely, seeing as work started at 8.30 the next day and for Bill as well. There was no way he could sleep knowing that his newly acquired genie slaved away trying to tidy up his pig sty.

Tom splashed his face with cold water, realizing, with a certain sense of trepidation, that he had no guest room of any sort. Where would Bill sleep? He couldn't just ask him to go back into his lamp overnight, as economic as it may have seemed.

A pair of freshly laundered pajamas hung over the radiator, warmed up and fluffy and Tom smiled to himself as he slipped into them; it was the kind of uselessly sweet gesture he had grown up with, when his mum would have placed his PJs and his towels on the heater while Tom was getting ready for bed.

He wandered down the hallway to the kitchen, finding Bill squatting in front of a row of cupboards, arranging a stack of pots into one of the deep drawers. His hair was pulled back into a messy pony tail with one of the many hair bands Tom compulsively left laying around the flat, strands of wiry black hair sticking up at odd angles.

Tom cleared his throat, watching Bill whip around at the sound, a rosy flush straying along his cheeks.

"Look, it's past midnight already and I should get to bed so maybe you should retire for the night," Tom suggested, marveling inwardly at how cool and composed his voice sounded despite the fact that he still felt somewhat uneasy about Bill's presence in his apartment.

"But I'm not finished yet, Master," came the immediate reply while Bill shut the drawer, proceeding to hang up the soggy dish towels on their assigned rack.

Tom took a few hesitant steps into the room, catching his genie by the elbow just as Bill was about to brush past him to attend to the overflowing wastepaper basket in the corner.

"I can't sleep while you rummage through my apartment," Tom pressed on, squeezing his genie's impossibly thin arm a little for emphasis, "so my bedtime is your bedtime as well, okay?"

It earned him a confused and slightly flustered look but eventually Bill nodded slowly. Tom let go off his strange flatmate and motioned Bill to follow him to the kitchen where he filled two glasses of water for them both, setting one in front of Bill, who took it and drained it in three greedy gulps.

"God, I was getting so thirsty already, thank you Master!" He breathed as he wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand.

Tom almost spluttered, wondering what would have happened if he hadn't thought of giving Bill something to drink, or maybe eat.

"You know you can umm...eat and drink...stuff whenever you feel like it, right?" He looked at Bill inquiringly, waiting for some sort of confirmation. The last thing he needed at the end of these three days was a dehydrated, starved to death genie in his flat. Bill simply nodded and smiled sweetly.

"I have no guest room so I guess it's best if I take the couch and you sleep in my bed," Tom muttered, running his finger along the rim of the water glass. Next to him Bill made an outraged noise.

"I can't sleep in your bed, Master! At least, not while you sleep on the couch!" he exclaimed, flailing his arms around and Tom couldn't help but grin a little. This master thing surely had the potential to go to one's head.

"Nonsense, you spent the last 900 years cramped up in a lamp and I made you wade through my mess for hours – you take the bed," he announced in a firm tone, congratulating himself on doing the polite thing. The couch wasn't exactly comfortable but Tom knew the thought of Bill curled up on that worn down sofa would keep him up all night.

Bill eyed him with an expression that walked the line between gratefulness and utter bewilderment and Tom waited and watched the internal battle playing out on his genie's face; the way Bill's mouth formed silent words of protest, his brows drawing up till eventually his entire face softened and he nodded, hiding a tiny yawn behind his hand.

* * *

It wasn't until half past three in the morning, after the second car alarm went off, wailing down in the street under the living room window that Tom questioned his decision. He could feel every bone in his back crunching in protest every time he turned on the cramped couch, pulling his legs up close to his body, feeling how icy his toes were, eternally sticking out under the too short set of sheets.

Sighing deeply he turned on his back, wincing quietly as something in the cushioning bored into his lower back and stared at the ceiling above him. The cone of lights from a passing car swept across the room, a door opened somewhere down in the street, a group of people, obviously drunk, hollered and howled as they passed the house.

The living room was loud, strangely lit with all the lights of the city. His bedroom was nice, dark and quiet and cool, with the windows open, nothing but the wind whispering through the tree in the backyard to lull him to sleep.

The couch was murder for his joints. His back was aching already, his neck stiff as if someone had screwed it into a vice. The bed was big, more than double size actually, hard mattress, soft sheets, his ergonomically shaped pillow...

With a huff Tom rolled off the horrid sofa and, not even bothering to turn on the lights, he shuffled down the dark hallway, cautiously opening the first door on the left.

The air in the bedroom was pleasantly cool, a light breeze billowing the curtains drawn closed in front of the opened window. In the dim light of the room he could see his genie, laying at the far right end of the bed, rolled up under the covers, frizzy black hair spilling over the pillow case.

Hesitantly, Tom leaned against the door jamb, surveying the room. The bed really was big enough for the two of them and after all, what could Bill really say against it? Tom had tried, hadn't he?

Tiptoeing the short way from the door to the bed, Tom carefully lifted the covers and slid in, pulling his beloved pillow under his head and snuggling under the over sized comforter.  
The sheets were warm when he rubbed his toes against them and Tom turned on his side, smiling to himself as he watched the blurring outline of Bill laying at the other end of the bed before drifted off to sleep.

 

**Second Day**

The alarm went off way too soon, Tom thought, as he aimlessly lashed out in the general direction of the beeping alarm clock till the obnoxious noise subsided. Smacking his lips, Tom slid deeper under the covers, his toes curling in sleepy pleasure. He snuggled closer into the warmth of the sheets, throwing his arm over a lump of blankets and molding himself against it, determined to sleep as long as humanely possible before he had to get ready for work.

It wasn't until the lump of blankets let out a deep rumbling purr and pushed back against him that Tom's eyes snapped open and he remembered that what he had curled up against just now was most definitely _not_ a mess of bedding.

"Morning..." It was little more than a sleepy sigh but it made Tom scramble out of bed immediately.  
He was still trying to disentangle his left foot from the rumpled sheets when Bill turned around, peeling himself out of the convolute of blankets with supreme effort.

He wore no shirt. Tom almost lost his balance but caught himself at the last moment, swaying to and fro awkwardly while his genie scratched at his shoulder, looking disoriented as hell.

"So, I uh...need to get ready for work," Tom stammered, desperately trying to fill the heavy silence in the room with something, anything really, that would prevent him from ogling the fine lines of that body peeking out from under the covers. He couldn't remember the last time he had had anything like this in his bed...

"Okaaaaaaa-" The rest of the word was swallowed up by a massive yawn, Bill blinking owlishly at him before he suddenly snapped upright, his eyes as big as saucers, an almost terrified expression on his face.

"Allah! Breakfast!" Bill threw his hands up in despair while he struggled out of bed and Tom averted his eyes in advance, anticipating an eyeful of bare genie bum the next moment and he wanted to save himself _that_ embarrassment, at least.

Only after he felt Bill brush past him, did Tom dare to peek through his fingers.  
Pants. Those long, loose linen pants from the day before, thank God.

Bill was already raising hell in the kitchen, clanking around and talking excitedly to himself, when Tom vanished in the bathroom.

After a cruelly cold shower and a good three minutes spent staring in amazement at his spotlessly tidy closet, Tom trooped into the kitchen, stopping short in the doorway.  
It smelled _delicious_!

Bill had set up an improvised buffet on the kitchen isle, jars of marmelade and jam, toast, rolls, coffee – Tom stepped closer – and, oh God, soft boiled eggs!

As if pulled in by gravitation, Tom slipped onto one of the high stools, marveling at all the food in front of him. He reached for a slice of toast, crisp and still warm, wondering where all the food had come from. Last he remembered, all he had in his fridge was a carton of milk, the contents more the consistency of blue cheese.

Bill set down a mug in front of him, Tom wincing silently as he saw the chipped Sponge Bob design. Maybe he should invest in something less childish soon...or at least something that matched, he thought, as he looked down on the delicate, faded little flower border on his plate.

"It's a three-minute egg," Bill muttered as he slid an egg cup across the table, "I hope it's to your liking, Master."

Tom spread some butter on his toast and took the first bite, barely able to hold down the moan when the taste spread in his mouth. Breakfast usually consisted of cold, black coffee from the previous day and a cigarette before he left the house; it felt like he had died and gone to heaven.  
Bill pushed a plate of ham in front of him, a wide smile spreading all over his face while he watched Tom's reactions to the food.

"Awnd u'ungy?" Tom mumbled around a delicious combination of toast, butter and ham, sending tiny crumbs of bread flying across the counter, nearly missing Bill. Tom could feel the blood rush into his cheeks but his genie seemed completely unfazed. If anything, Bill's smile seemed to grow a bit broader.

Swallowing heavily, Tom wiped at his mouth and pulled out the second chair next to him, motioning for Bill to sit.

"Shouldn't I wait until you are finished, Master?" Bill asked, a mildly puzzled look on his face as Tom got up to get a plate and mug for him.

"Eating alone is not fun," Tom declared, filling one of the Peanuts mugs with coffee and setting it down in front of his house guest. He shot a sideways glance at the clock over the counter. He still had at least half an hour before he would have to leave. Time enough for at least another toast and that three-minute egg in all its wobbling glory.

Next to him, Bill daintily sipped on his coffee, smiling at him over the rim of the Woodstock mug, a faint pink blush rising high on his cheeks and Tom had to look away, knowing he was blushing all over again, though for a completely different reason now.

"So...umm, when do you need to leave for work, Master?" Bill asked casually.

Tom looked up from his plate just in time to see a second egg cup floating the short distance between the cupboard and the table before it settled down in front of Bill's plate.

"You just..." Tom felt his jaw going slack as he pointed at the egg cup.

Bill grinned at him, obviously very proud. He tapped the rim of the cup with his middle finger and an egg appeared right out of nowhere, materializing in the cup amidst a tiny shower of orange sparkles.

Tom choked on the last bite of his toast and it took some hearty slaps on his back before he could breathe again.

"I prefer mine four minutes," Bill explained, smacking off the top of the shell with one quick move of his knife. Tom craned his neck, trying to get a good look at the mystery egg. It really was a _real_ egg.

"You can make egg cups float and eggs appear just like..." Tom flitted his fingers through the air for emphasis, "just like POOF! but you have to actually clean my apartment...by hand?!"

Bill simply shrugged, slowly licking his spoon clean of waxy egg yolk. Tom saw a flash of silver and groaned internally when he realized it was a tongue piercing. The fluttering in his stomach was just the delicious food.

"I told you...the rules," was the rather mysterious reply.  
"Besides, where do you think all that food came from?" Bill teased, casually laying another piece of toast on Tom's plate. "Certainly _not_ from your fridge, Mr. Sour Milk and YumYum Cup Noodles." Bill shuddered theatrically, making a face and Tom couldn't contain the laughter bubbling up in him.

Tom came to work ten minutes late, his laptop bag bulging with the food Bill had zapped in there at the last moment, when Tom had already been halfway out the door.

The office was dreary as ever but for the first time in months, Tom didn't roll his eyes as he pushed through the revolving doors at the entrance. It didn't bother him that his co-workers had left stacks of assignments on his desk, or that no one seemed to have missed him at all.

He passed the decrepit looking coffee vending machine with i's usual _Out of Order_ sign taped to it, patting the clunky shape of the vacuum flask full of coffee Bill had magically zapped in there as well, wondering if the light bounce in his walk was solely due to the rather substantial breakfast.

* * *

It shouldn't have been so hard to concentrate on work. Tom was never one to be easily distracted. Today however, his thoughts seemed to be all over the place, never quite focused on what he was supposed to do, somehow always wandering back to his apartment and the person who was there right now. Bill.

Rubbing at his face, Tom leaned back in his creaking chair. Bill. He couldn't help but laugh at his own behavior – that kind of fluttery, schoolgirl-with-a-light-crush feeling of sorts that Bill provoked in him; not entirely pleasant really, always with that edge of apprehension but somehow terribly exciting at the same time. And excitement was something he had been definitely missing in his life lately.

"Excuse me?" Tom turned towards the door to his office at the voice. There was no one.  
"Here, Master!" Came the voice again and Tom spun around in his chair, staring at the screen of his computer and Bill's face, caught within its frame.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Tom hissed, giving the open door a good kick so it swung back into its lock. No one needed to hear him talking to his computer.

Bill leaned forward, his left eye bulging out comically with the weird perspective of the screen. He looked mildly puzzled.  
"Where am I, Master?" He asked, tapping on finger against the invisible barrier of the screen and Tom could swear he heard the tapping of fingers against glass in that moment.

"You're in my computer – God knows how you got there!" Tom scooted closer, propping his chin up on the tabletop to see eye to eye with his genie.  
Judging by the confused look on his face, the explanation didn't seem to make much sense to Bill though.

"Hmmm...strange," he muttered, looking around, "I was just looking for you, Master."  
Bill brushed some hair out of his face and Tom tried to tame the probably very dopey grin on his face into a neutral smile.

"When will you be coming home?"  
"Why? Are you bored all by yourself?" Tom teased, delighting in the barely there pink flush that crept into Bill's cheeks.  
"A little...maybe," Bill admitted, winking at him and Tom wondered if maybe he could get out of work earlier today.

"Kaulitz, have you gone through the debugging report on – what the hell are you doing?!" Tom snapped up straight, staring at the door, his supervisor leaning against the door jamb looking down on him with one of those ultra stern, drill instructor expressions on his face the man was so notorious for.

"I...uh," Tom began to stammer, his hand fiddling with his mouse, trying to somehow obscure Bill's face with another window. The computer didn't react.  
Out of the corner of his eye he could see Bill lean forward against the inside of the screen as if he was trying to peer around the corner and get a look at his supervisor.

"We don't pay you to indulge in private chats at work, you know?" The supervisor boomed and Tom could feel his palm growing slick with sweat. The man took another step into the room. Tom swallowed heavily; another step and he would see Bill trapped behind his screen and then what? People had been fired for less already.

With another big step his supervisor was behind his chair and Tom's shoulders slumped in defeat. His next wish would be for a new job...

"Having a nice video chat with your boyfriend?" The man snarked and Tom could hear the squeaking of the fake leather of his chair as his supervisor's hands clawed around the backrest.

"Do you work for my Master?" Bill inquired, leaning forward again and gazing up at the supervisor behind Tom with curious eyes, prompting the man to splutter in protest.

"Your 'Master' will probably have a lot of free time after I reported this, sweetie..." Tom felt his stomach start to float in his middle, that one moment before he'd get violently sick. He was so, so done for!  
At this point he was just praying for Bill to leave, maybe for the earth to open up and swallow him whole. An asteroid, a freak tidal wave, attack of the flying monkeys...anything _but_ this!

He dared to peek up at the screen, seeing Bill chew on his bottom lip, trepidation written all over his genie's face as the full impact of the situation began to sink in.

"I think you should go now and forget you ever came here, alright?" Bill's firm, almost menacing voice made Tom look up at the screen in surprise. His genie was staring past his face, obviously at the supervisor behind him.

"And I suggest you let my Master take the rest of the day off..." Bill continued and Tom dared to turn his head to look at his supervisor. The man was nodding softly, staring at the screen as if hypnotized.

"And now, shoo shoo!" The supervisor nodded again, turned and stalked out of his office, his expression vacant but slightly serene at the same time.

"Will you be coming home now, Master?" Bill's cheery voice jerked Tom out of his daze and he returned his attention back to the screen. He didn't know whether to feel grateful or outraged at what his genie had just done. He still had his job but Bill had turned his supervisor into a freaking zombie!

"Oh please come home, Master!" Bill entreated when Tom failed to answer.  
"I'll make coffee and cake and...I have a surprise for you when you get back home," Bill promised but Tom only nodded and grabbed his bag, leaving his office pretty much with the same kind of stupefied expression as his supervisor had.

* * *

Tom dropped his heavy bag next to the wardrobe. He had taken a few assignments from the office with him in an effort to quell the guilty feelings his genie's little stunt had provoked. At least Bill hadn't gone overboard and ordered a pay rise for him, Tom thought, as he shuffled down the hallway in search of Bill.

He wasn't in the living kitchen, nor in Tom's bedroom so that left only one possibility. Tom softly knocked at the bathroom door. No reply came.

"Bill? It's me, Mas...it's me, Tom!" He called out. Again, no reply.  
"Are you...uh, decent?" Tom pushed open the door hesitantly, peering in.

"Ummm..." Tom began but stopped again when Bill didn't react. Bill was standing with his back to him, bent over slightly as he toweled himself off. The bathroom smelled of sweet shower gel and warm wet air. His genie hummed quietly to himself and Tom saw the cables of his earphones bridging the small distance between Bill and one of the cabinets, the MP3 player laying on top of it.

He shouldn't spy on his house guest, especially not when Bill was so perfectly oblivious to his presence; so perfectly naked on top of that.  
Bill bent over further to pick at one of his toes and Tom internally cursed himself for staying put at the door. He had seen quite enough of these impossibly long legs that seemed to go on forever and that pert little ass and just – he had spied enough!

Quietly he closed the door and hurried to the living room, where he installed himself on the couch, flipped on the television and pointedly slouched in the cushions, trying to appear terribly blasé when Bill returned not even three minutes later.

His genie bounced on the couch next to him, a cloud of subtle perfume enveloping Tom when Bill leaned over to pick off his hat and throw it on the couch table.  
Bill wore orange now, as opposed to the simple beige of yesterday and this morning, but still those loose pants and that long tunic. Only when he turned around to receive the coffee cups floating over from the kitchen and the shirt twisted round his narrow hips, did Tom catch a glance of what was hidden under those garments – pale, creamy skin and a tattoo of a star right there across his hipbone. The coffee cup Bill offered him shook just as little as he took it.

"I am so sorry about what happened at work today, Master," Bill began even before Tom had had his first sip of coffee. Bill looked absolutely miserable and Tom simply smiled and shrugged his shoulders. He had planned on giving Bill an earful about the incident but somehow, on the way from the door to the living room, he had forgotten all about it.

"I see you're finished cleaning the apartment," Tom remarked casually and Bill's face lit up in pride.  
It really was extraordinarily clean. The apartment was spic and span, every surface gleaming as if it had been polished for hours; the drapes were actually white again and not their usually so faded yellowish-brown.

“I finished the cleaning, did the rest of the laundry, cleaned all the dishes, tidied up your office and resurrected your plants, Master!” Bill babbled on and on between short sips from his cup and the occasional nibble on one of the cookies Tom could have sworn hadn't been there before.

"And I thought of something that you really need!" Bill announced, poking Tom in the chest and giving him a challenging look.

“New drapes? Fresh paint on the walls?” He hazarded but Bill just waved the matter off with an irritated huff.

“Well, that too but what would really make this place feel less like an over sized storage closet is something else.”

“Aaaand what are you thinking of now...exactly?” Somehow Tom feared for the worst. Who knew, Bill probably thought it'd be a grand idea to redecorate his apartment in the style of a harem.

“Kittens!” Bill all but shrieked and lunged for the box that had magically appeared in a corner of his living room.

“But I didn't wish for kittens!” Tom flailed his arms but it was no use. Bill was already hunched over the carton, up to his elbows in its meowing contents.

“Just because you are my Master doesn't mean I don't have a will of my own anymore,” Bill cooed down into the box. When he got up again he held three kittens in his arms, depositing one in Tom's arms right away.

“I'm allergic to cats, Bill,” Tom whined, already feeling that tell-tale itching at the back of his throat as the fluffy gray thing clawed its way up his chest.

“Really?” Bill looked at him with that kind of wide, doe-eyed expression that almost suggested that his allergy was a personal insult.  
“But they're so cute!” He moaned holding another one of the little things out for Tom to inspect.

“I know they're cute but... _OUCH!_ ” Gently Tom peeled the kitten off which by now had managed to crawl up on his shoulder. A rather difficult task, seeing as the tiny thing had its claws in a twirl of his dreads and was attacking it with so much zest as if it was really just a hairy snake.

“We can't keep them, Bill! I'll...die!” He added, rather dramatically but Bill just waved him off with a clucking sound and pulled Tom after him to the box in the corner. There were three more tiny kittens in there, all tumbling over one another as they tried to crawl out of the box.

“We can't keep them all, Bill and I - ” The rest of Tom's objection was cut off by a violent sneeze. The kitten was taken of his hands and Bill cradled the small thing against his chest, looking at Tom, mild amazement written all over his face.

“You really _are_ allergic to cats, aren't you?”  
Another brutal sneeze that seemed to clean out all of his sinuses and a rather large part of his brain was the only answer Tom managed.  
He sniffled, feeling his eyes start to swell up already. Cursed cat hairs!

“Duh!” He managed rather eloquently, his voice already thick as if he had a cold.

Bill stemmed a hand into his hip, giving him the sort of annoyed look his mum always gave him when Tom whined to her about his failed relationships, like it was really just his fault.

“God! You're helpless...” Bill groaned and snapped his fingers.  
“There you go, cat-resistant!”

The grey bundle of fluff was put back in his arms again. It whimpered and clawed its way up his shirt again but this time, even as it got closer to his face, Tom didn't feel that constricting tightness settling at the back of his throat. If anything his nose seemed to clear up again, the obnoxious itching at the back of his tongue almost gone now.

Hesitantly he once stroked his hands down the wispy grey fur on the back of the little cat, marveling at how soft it was, how tiny and frail the little creature in his arms seemed. He could feel the delicate arch of the ribs under the silky coat of fur, all warm and rumbling with the purrs of the cat. The kitten was so tiny it it wasn't much bigger than the palm of his hand.

It looked up at him, eyes already narrowed and squinting with sleep and Tom knew he was done for. No way he could order Bill to zap the kittens back to where they'd come from.  
Judging by Bill's triumphant look as he blew a raspberry on the pink tummy of one of the other kittens this was exactly what his genie had counted on all along...

* * *

It had taken the better part of three hours to decide on one of the six fluff balls Bill had snapped into his apartment but eventually Tom decided on the tiny grey one Bill had given him at the beginning. After loads of clumsy inspecting Bill decided that it was a girl and consequently named her Amel, effectively overriding Tom's more mundane choice of Tigger, Trixie or Gina.

It was early evening already and Amel was busy inspecting her new home, traipsing from the bathroom to the bedroom and back to the living room again, where she curled up in Bill's lap as he sat on the floor in front of the sofa, mesmerized by the TV, while Tom had set up camp on the couch, finishing up the last few pages of code on his assigned project.

It was dull work and he would probably have been faster if he had gone to his studio to use the actual computer but he couldn't help but feel lonely, all cooped up there between his gadgets, while Bill was elsewhere. It felt like such a waste of time.

As he typed he kept stealing sideways glances down to the foot of the sofa where Bill sat on the floor, absentmindedly stroking the cat. His attention was so completely absorbed the television Tom felt safe to really look at his strange house guest properly.

Had he walked past Bill in the streets he would have probably mistaken him for a girl, or one of these uberly affectioning queer boys who fluttered up at any occasion and were a stock at the gay bars Tom sometimes made himself go to. So not his type. He liked the more sporty ones, blond hair, tall, a bit muscled but not too much, not feminine types like Bill.

At the same time there was something about Bill that made something pleasant and warm unfurl in the pit of Tom's stomach; Bill felt familiar in a strange sort of way that put Tom at ease, not like he usually was around other people; less guarded and it felt nice for a change.

God, those lashes...Tom's fingers slipped on the keys and he cursed silently as he corrected the code he had just fucked up. Bill looked at him briefly, flashing him a sparkling smile before his attention turned back to the TV. He seemed endlessly fascinated by any program, no matter what. The weather channel, shopping TV or a political debate, Bill was always staring at the screen with his pretty mouth half open, eyes all wide.

Tom smiled to himself and hurried through the last lines of his assignment, ignoring the mistakes he made. He'd have enough time to correct that tomorrow before work. Finally he had reached the end of the page and shut the laptop with a loud clap.

Bill jumped a little in surprise and Amel scrambled out of his lap, sauntering off to behind the kitchen isle, meowing loudly in protest at having been waken up so rudely.

“Sit up here on the sofa with me?” Tom asked while he stowed the laptop away on the small table in front of the sofa. It became easier to ask for these things straight away and he didn't even mind being called Master all that much anymore.

Bill crawled on the sofa, wriggling in place until he was comfortable. There was cat hair on his pants and it was getting all over the sofa.  
Amel would give Manuel a coronary, Tom mused as he made more room for Bill to sit. The cat hair everywhere, the way the floors in the bathroom and the hallway already crunched with crumbs of scattered kitty litter. He hadn't wasted so much as a fleeting thought on Manuel and it felt really liberating.

"So...can I ask you something, Master?" Bill asked, suddenly so close Tom felt him press up against his side, all radiating warmth and smooth cotton.

Tom simply shrugged his shoulders in reply and sipped from his coffee which had gone cold by now.  
"Do you have a boyfriend?" The coffee took the wrong way down and Tom spluttered and coughed.

"Allah! I'm sorry, Master," Bill muttered hectically, rubbing soothing circles on his back while Tom gasped for air, feeling his eyes tear up. That was one question he had certainly not expected.

"I didn't mean to imply anything, so sorry." Bill whined but Tom simply shook his head. Bill had seen pretty much everything in his house, his magazines, not to mention the odd porno tape that gathered dust at the back of some drawer.

"God...a warning when you drop questions like that on me again," Tom wheezed, wiping at his eyes and gratefully taking the glass of water Bill offered him. His genie looked positively contrite, his cheeks tinted a pretty pink.

"I'm really sorry," Bill repeated, scooting impossibly closer. He fiddled with one stray dread lock that had escaped Tom's pony tail, rubbing the fraying end between his fingers.  
"Do you though? Have a boyfriend?" He suddenly added, so quietly Tom would probably not have heard it had it not been for Bill sitting so close to him he was practically in his lap by now.

Tom swallowed heavily, stealing a sideways glance at Bill, the way he sat huddled close, lips lightly parted, waiting. He thought of Manuel and his ugly squarish face, his eternal nagging and how he had killed his plants.

"No, I don't." He mumbled.

The next moment he found himself with an armful of genie as Bill more or less hurled himself onto his lap. Suddenly he was encased by long arms and even longer legs, Bill's face pushing up against the side of his neck. Bill's breath was warm against his skin, making Tom shiver when Bill breathed right into his ear.

"You could always wish for me to leave you alone..."

Tom slowly slid his hands round Bill's hips, finding a hard little body under those soft cotton clothes. His thumbs fit exactly in the sharp line of Bill's hipbones and when he followed the curve downwards he heard Bill hiccup on a breath and shiver all over.

"Mas-...Tom?" Bill kissed his ear, making goose bumps explode down the length of Tom's spine. It felt electric.  
"Let me stay?"

* * *

Tom rolled over with a heavy sigh, scooting up closer to his lovely bed fellow. Bill was huddled under the blanket, rolled up into a fetal position, back rounded, his arms tucked close to his chest.

He had fallen asleep not even a minute after they'd been done, had simply rolled over and dozed off instantly. Normally that kind of behavior would annoy Tom to no end but with Bill it was, as everything else, just _different._

So instead of waking Bill up he lay down close, watching him sleep. As lovely as it was, watching the way Bill's entire face seemed to become soft and child-like when he slept, it hit Tom that they had little more than one day left before Bill would have to go back into his lamp again. The thought alone made him slightly sick, a mindless panic starting to churn low in his belly.

Bill grumbled sleepily, tucking the covers closer around himself, his lashes fluttering for a moment before he stilled again and Tom decided he would take the day tomorrow off. He couldn't possibly be at work, watching the hours go by, knowing that every minute he spent in his stupid office was one minute he couldn't spend with Bill.

Tom bit down a yawn, sliding deeper into the folds of sheets to burrow his nose in it and take a deep breath. It smelled so different now that Bill was here, their combined warmth still trapped under the rumpled linens. Everything was different. Not only was the apartment cleaner than it had ever been before, everything was just...warmer. Somehow.

Tom rolled his eyes at himself, huffing quietly while he peeled himself out of the covers. Not even two days and he was getting all sappy and emotional. Something of a record, even for him. Normally it took about a week for him to transform from halfway reasonable adult to lovesick puppy. Maybe a long, cold shower would help set his head right, he mused, as he tiptoed out of the room, careful not to wake Bill.

A few moments later the shower was turned on, the water rushing down through the pipes with such a roar Tom never even heard the door bell ring as he stood under spray.  
Bill, however, did hear it. He jerked out of a pleasantly hazy half-sleep, blinking around himself blearily as the door bell kept on ringing, sounding angrier with every passing second.

He rolled out of bed and grabbed the first piece of clothing to meet him on his way out – one of Tom's billowing shirts – doddering down the hallway towards the door.

"Yeeeeeeeeeeeeah?" Bill asked through a gigantic yawn even as he opened the door. Normal times he would have been mortified at this kind of behavior. A proper genie didn't embarrass his master with this kind of conduct but he had been so rudely awakened from his pleasant slumber it was hard to work up enough energy to care.

Judging by the looks of the caller standing on their doorstep he wasn't the only one with the potential for mortification.

The hesitant smile one the guy's face faltered until it was just the corners of the mouth turned up rather forcibly. It didn't help much in the looks department, Bill decided. The guy was plain at best, though, in all honesty, he looked like the short cousin of Lurch, the butler of the Adam's family. Something about that flat head and the slightly greenish complexion...

Bill leaned against the door jamb, tugging a little at the hem of Tom's enormous shirt; he could see the caller's eyes widening as he stared at his naked legs sticking out under the billowing shirt and Bill smacked his lips disapprovingly.  
With a jolt the stranger seem to snap back to reality, staring at Bill in disbelief.

"Does uh...Tom still live here?" He asked, his voice strained with politeness.

"Who are you?" Bill drawled, biting down another yawn and deliberately ignoring the question; he couldn't have random people bug Tom, much less anyone who was rude enough not to introduce himself before hand.

"I'm...uh, Manuel?!" It came out with the sort of righteous indignation that implied Bill should have been aware of the caller's importance. No such luck though. The guy was way too ugly to be related to his master and Tom had never mentioned anyone with that name.

Behind them, in the apartment, the shower droned on and on and Manuel made a hesitant step forward, but Bill was faster and took up his position in the middle of the door frame.

"My master is showering right now but you can leave me a message for him if it's urgent," he offered, rather diplomatically as he thought so himself.

"Master?" Ugly Manuel took a step back, sizing Bill up the way one might look at a particularly nasty bug. He shook his flat, little head.  
"God what kind of kinks are you into..."

"So I gather you have no message for my...Master," Bill inquired round a smirk, delighting in the way this guy's eyes narrowed at the last word.  
Manuel just arched his eyebrows, disgust positively dripping from his features, before he rolled his eyes, turned around and left again.

Bill watched him hurry down the winding stairs, marveling at the uneasy feeling in his stomach, a queer mix of triumph and trepidation before he closed the door again and padded down the hallway to the bathroom.

The mirror was covered with a fine sheen of condensation, the air wet and smelling of shower gel and Bill sat down on the lid of the toilet, pulling his legs up to his chest and waited.

Behind the milky glass of the shower stall he could make out the lines of Tom's body, not much though, just enough to tell apart front and back view, just enough to make him suck on his lower lip and curl his toes against the cold plastic lid. Smiling to himself, Bill reached for the big towel on the rack, pulled it off and stowed it away behind himself.

At long last the water was turned off and the sliding door opened, Tom's arm appearing out of the crack, feeling for the towel on the rack. Bill watched those impossibly long fingers fumble up and down the rack, trying to tame the maniac grin that threatened to spill on his face at any moment.  
Eventually he heard a low huff coming from within the stall before the door opened wider and Tom's head appeared, neck craned as he searched for his towel.

"Bill..." Tom drawled, raising one eyebrow in interrogation as he surveyed his genie, wearing nothing more than one of his shirts and a positively devious grin, "is that my towel behind you on the counter?"

Bill simply nodded, his eyes sparkling in mischievous delight.

"Give it back?"

"Umm...nope," Bill grinned, "I guess you will have to come out and get it..."

Tom barely suppressed a heavy sigh. It was getting cold, all wet and naked, but, oh he knew a way to get back at Bill for snagging his towel.  
"Genie, I _wish_ for you to give me my towel back," he said, leveling a calm look at Bill.

"God!" Bill threw his hands up in mock despair and grabbed the towel, holding it out to Tom.  
Tom haphazardly rubbed himself off, slinging it around his waist before he stepped out of the shower.

" _You_ are no fun," Bill stated in faux irritation, stepping up so close to him, droplets of water soaked from Tom's skin into the shirt and Tom couldn't help the smirk that tugged at the corners of his mouth.

"Didn't complain about the lack of fun before," he whispered teasingly, prodding their noses together before he brushed past Bill to go back to his bedroom.

He wondered what had come over him. Tom wasn't the teasing kind, all his wit usually escaping him unless he knew someone really well but to flirt like that with someone he had only met yesterday was pretty much unheard of.

Opening his closet, he decided that the difference was that he felt comfortable with Bill, a strange kind of familiarity that was calming and exciting at the same time.  
A delicate white hand closed over his wrist just as he was about to reach for a shirt, pulling his arm back against his stomach.

Bill stepped up against him, pressing his chest against Tom's back, his hand scratching lightly at his belly. Tom knew he was grinning like a loon in that very moment but he just felt so pleasantly warm, tingly all over.

"There was someone at the door while you showered," Bill muttered, his chin moving against Tom's shoulder as he spoke. "Some guy named Manuel..."

"Oh..." The nice feeling dampened a little and Tom stared at the neat stacks of folded t-shirts in front of him. It felt like something heavy had suddenly settled down in the pit of his stomach and even Bill's neatly filed nails tracing random patterns on his belly didn't alleviate that sudden heaviness.

"He didn't seem very nice," Bill continued, brushing a tiny kiss down his shoulder, "who is he?"

"No one really, no one important," Tom replied. It didn't even feel like he was lying. Manuel was no one important. Not anymore.

Behind him, Bill hummed in satisfaction, then there was that low, rumbling purr whispering right up against the side of his neck, the towel dropped to the ground and Tom let himself be pulled backwards willingly, smiling to himself when he rolled under the still warm covers.

"Let's have fun again?"

**Last Day**

Tom woke up to the roaring of water through the pipes overhead. It was already light outside, birds chirping in the backyard, the faintest din of traffic from the street reaching the bedroom. He yawned, stretching under the covers. Everything felt so warm and deliciously lazy, simply perfect.

When he turned around he was met with Bill's face, half hidden by the bedding and Tom could just about see one corner of his mouth when he spoke, his voice so soft it mixed with the wind whispering outside, a bit like music almost.

"Morning..." Bill whispered, biting down a tiny yawn. Tom scooted closer and found Amel rolled up in a tiny bundle amidst a nest of rumpled bedding against Bill's chest and Bill stroking the slightly darker strip of fur along her rounded back.

"I'm afraid she's used to sleeping in your bed by now," Bill continued, flashing him a teasing smile when Tom groaned quietly.

"You haven't wished for anything really..." Bill muttered, his pinkie stretching out, barely brushing Tom's wrist. Under the sheets their toes curled round each other, a sudden gust of wind blowing the curtains to the side, the light from outside catching in a short glint in Bill's eyes and suddenly everything felt so very heavy, so familiar it made Tom ache deep inside.

"Nothing you want, huh?" Bill repeated, scooting closer just a little and the warmth under the covers shifted, lapping up Tom's spine.

"I think I already have everything I could ever have wished for." He muttered, eyelids drooping so he didn't have to look at Bill, didn't have to embarrass himself more but even through the dark vignette of his lashes, he saw Bill smile.

* * *

The entire day became a blur of lights dancing across the bedroom ceiling, the whispering of cotton sheets and Bill's voice and Amel's purring when she made herself comfortable at the foot of the bed.

They spent almost the entire day in bed with Tom watching the lazy journey of sunlight across the room, watching Bill pet the cat, drift off to sleep, watching Bill watching him from beneath lowered lashes, licking his lips until Bill slinked over the mattress again and Tom let himself willingly turned on his back, Bill laying down on him like a warm blanket.

Tom tried to not think too hard about the fact that Bill would be gone soon.  
It was easy too, when Bill was awake, talking to him, whispering in his ear, kissing him; it wasn't so easy when Bill was asleep, rolled up under the blankets, snuggled up against his side. Then it felt like his world was about to fall apart and this was just the last reprieve before the bitter end.

It wasn't until late that evening that they both somehow made it out of bed. Bill demanded that Tom cook dinner for him and wouldn't be persuaded otherwise even as Tom protested that the only thing he could do was spaghetti.

Bill sat on the counter, watching him and chattering away as Tom threw together his patented "anything goes" pasta sauce, letting Bill tease and distract him.  
The food wasn't all that, certainly beyond anything Bill could have produced at the wink of an eye but Bill insisted that it was the best he had ever had, his toes pushing up against Tom's leg under the table, making Tom go even redder in the face.

Inside Tom felt so very heavy but he put on his best cheery face; Bill seemed alright and it wasn't until a lot later that night that the atmosphere around them thickened...

It was nearing midnight and Amel, despite the rolls of thunder outside had snoozed off hours ago already. The apartment was eerily quiet, almost as it had been before Bill came, Tom thought.  
He came back out of bathroom to find Bill sitting at the kitchen isle, his lamp sitting on the table in front of him. The light above him flickered unsteadily, bathing the whole scene in a sinister glow.

“It's close to midnight,” Bill murmured, nudging the lamp with his pinkie as Tom sat down next to him.  
The light above them flickered again as another roll of thunder rumbled over the roof.

“I could fix that light for you before it's time to get back inside my lamp again.” Bill finally suggested, smirking at him but even under the dim flickering lights Tom could see that the smile was forced and didn't look happy at all.

“Judging by how long it took you to clean my apartment I don't think we have time to wait for the electrician you'd prolly need to call for that one.”

Bill said nothing but simply clapped his hands twice. The light flickered one more time before it steadied and the kitchen was bathed into a warm yellow glow again.

"I will miss you," he mumbled, staring at an empty space on the table between them.

Tom threw a cautious glance at the clock. They had one more minute.

“This is your last chance...any more wishes?”

“Can I wish for you to stay?”

Bill shook his head mournfully, his entire face set into one big pout that was nothing short of heart wrenching.

“No, you can't. That's against the rules.” He mumbled eventually.

Just at this moment the clock over the sink gave its usual tiny beep to announce the full hour and Tom jerked around in his chair, staring at the wall.

It was midnight.

He jerked his head back, looking at Bill. A soft smile played around his lips; it didn't reach his eyes though, just looked so infinitely sad, it made Tom's heart cramp in his chest.

“This is goodbye then, I guess,” Bill mumbled, his eyes blinking rapidly as if he was trying to stop himself from crying.

It started on the edges, as if Bill was dissolving from the outside, the outlines of his body starting to grow more undefined and a screeching panic gripped Tom all of a sudden. He grabbed Bill's hand and yanked him forward into a fierce and heated kiss, wildly determined to never let go again.  
Bill's skin was soft under his hand and he smelled and tasted so good, so real, Tom had to bite down the sobs threatening to rise in his chest. Bill's hands threaded in his hair, tugging so hard it was almost painful...

Soon though resistance melted away under his touch, dissolved at the same time as that warmth and smell he had grown so accustomed to in the last three of days. When he opened his eyes again, Tom was staring at an empty chair.

The lamp sat on the table, gritty and dirty as it had been the day he had bought it on the bazaar. Tom slumped in his chair and buried his head in his hands, marveling at the strange tug he felt so deep in his belly.

Already the apartment felt emptier than it ever had before, so eerily quiet without Bill's endless chatter. A quiet gawking sound jerked him out of his brooding and Tom looked down to see Amel rub her tiny head against his ankle. She looked up at him with the kind of big questioning eyes that made it seem like she knew exactly what had just happened.

With a deep sigh Tom picked up the kitten and cradled it in his arms, leaning back in the chair. As much as he had resented Bill dumping the kitten on him, now he was glad Amel was still here. A tiny reminder of Bill, who was now back in his lamp. Maybe thinking of him too, who knew...

Amel stemmed her tiny front paws on his chest and cocked her squarish head to one side, looking at him inquisitively.  
Tom rubbed his thumb behind her ear and watched as her eyes narrowed with pleasure, a high-pitched, queer purring sound rumbling through that tiny body and suddenly he felt so utterly exhausted.

It was as if with Bill dissolving in smoke and vanishing in his lamp again, all the energy and liveliness that had infested his apartment these last three days had gone as well. Clutching the kitten to his chest, Tom heaved himself out of the chair and walked towards the door.

It was curious, the way his steps slowed and his heart beat just a little faster, the wish to turn around and take a last look at that cursed lamp so strong he could practically feel himself itch all over. Tom bit down the urge, held the cat tighter against his arms and flicked off the kitchen light.

That night he fell asleep with Amel trampling round his bed, finally setting up camp at his side, laying her tiny head on his arm. He could still smell Bill on his pillow case when he rubbed his cheeks against it, a whiff of the scent of his skin on the duvet and Tom snuggled down deeper under the covers, inhaling that precious perfume and hoping Bill would at least visit him in his dreams tonight.

* * *

Getting up the next day was a nightmare. Tom had been plagued by nightmares during the night, drifting in and out of consciousness, a cruel sort of half-sleep that left him feeling completely exhausted and cranky in the morning.

When Amel finally bit his finger in an attempt to get his attention Tom reluctantly rolled out of bed and shuffled after the exciting kitten into the kitchen.  
Getting a cup of cold coffee from the day before, Tom leaned against the counter and watched his cat wolf down the squishy food in her bowl.

The clock read 9.45. He had overslept and he didn't fancy showing up late for work now. Truth be told, he didn't feel like going there ever again, or even go out of the house. He just felt miserable.

He glared at the lamp on the table, internally cursing it for giving him the best thing he had ever had and then taking it away again. Bill.  
Bill and his delicious food, Bill and his long legs, Bill and his infectious laughter, Bill who smelled so good it made Tom's heart skip a few beats just remembering it.

Bill shouldn't be trapped in his lamp for another 900 years, Tom decided suddenly. He slammed his cup down and grabbed the lamp.  
Someone else should have Bill to make his or her life a little brighter for three days.

Just like three days ago, Tom turned on the tap. He would have to clean the lamp a bit before giving it away. No one would take the dirty thing like that; he would have to pretty it up a little before...

Just like three days ago, Tom soaked a rag in soapy water and rubbed furiously at the lamp, trying to get the dirt off the fine copper.

Just like three days ago there was a low hissing sound before the lamp grew suddenly too hot to touch and – just like three days ago – Tom was entirely unprepared for it.

He dropped the lamp into the sink, taking a step back to watch the smoke billow out of the lamp. His heart was beating in his chest so hard he thought he could feel it bump against his ribcage.

"Fuck!" Bill's familiar voice rang in his ears. He coughed, the smoke dissipating slowly to reveal Bill sitting on the kitchen counter, his bottom half hanging into the water filled sink, his pants already soaking wet.

Just like three days ago, Tom simply stared at the apparition in his kitchen.

"Allah! It took you long enough!" Bill quipped, hopping off the counter, his soggy pants threatening to slip down his hips at any moment.  
"Most people try to get me back out right away, you know?" Bill prodded his nose against Tom's and Tom let out the breath it seemed he had held in since yesterday midnight.

"You only get me three days at a time, you know...but you get to keep me for as long as you want, for eternity..." Bill whispered, stepping up even closer, pressing a shy kiss to Tom's lips and Tom knew eternity would just be about enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at [ParabooBizarre @ Livejournal.com](http://paraboobizarre.livejournal.com/)


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